


Nightmare Come True

by purplefennels7



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, idk if it's major, injured!thranduil, probably, thranduil doesn't like being king, unbetaed, worried!elrond, yeah Celebrian isn't in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefennels7/pseuds/purplefennels7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has a dream about his father dying, and freaks. The rest is history...except the part where Elrond has to...<br/>a. comfort Thranduil<br/>b. tell him his father's dead<br/>c. save Thranduil from Orc poison.<br/>I kinda feel sorry for Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Slash, DLDR. By the way, I won't be updating regularly (even though I have 5 chapters written) because they're not typed and typing is really hard for me. Sorry... Enjoy the angst; bring tissues for later parts...

Thranduil lashed out with his longsword, scything into Orc after Orc in a deadly dance on the blasted plains of Mordor. There was no respite from the grueling onslaught of enemy warriors, and Thranduil found himself tiring quickly. Suddenly, a cry of pain tore into his heart from across the battlefield as Oropher collapsed at the feet of an Orc, his ring of guards lying dead around him. Rage lent him strength, and he battled through throngs of Orcs to his father’s side, but he was too late. Even with his sharp elven hearing, Thranduil could barely make out Oropher’s dying words. _Goodbye…Thranduil…_

* * *

Prince Thranduil of Mirkwood bolted straight up in his bed, his heart pounding and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“ _Adar_ …” he breathed after a moment, dreamscape still haunting his eyes.

“No, Thran, dear, I’m not your father,” a sleepy voice said from beside him. Thranduil started, drawing his sword from where it lay beside the bed.

“Thran, honestly, don’t you recognize me? It’s just me, Elrond, you know, the elf that loves you beyond all else?” As the blasted plains of his dream faded and the familiar contours of his room came into focus, Thranduil relaxed and resheathed his sword. Elrond was watching him with a sleepy but worried look on his face, and Thranduil couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the sight. Someone was worried about him; that didn’t happen all that often, only when he was with Elrond. Any thoughts of his dream momentarily vanished as Elrond’s look of worry transformed into one of pure love. Both elves relaxed as Elrond pulled Thranduil down into a soft, sweet kiss, lips warm from sleep.

The perfect moment vanished when the younger elf pulled away, worried look again appearing.

“ _Meleth_ , are you alright?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you have a nightmare this bad.”

Well…no,” Thranduil replied, every little detail of his dream returning to his mind in a rush.

“And…?” Elrond pressed gently, determined to make his beloved feel better somehow.

“I-I was in battle...in Mordor...and my father...he-” Thranduil broke off as a flood of tears broke past his disintegrating mental barriers. He collapsed into Elrond’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably into the other elf’s tunic. Elrond stroked his blond hair comfortingly and kissed the top of his head, whispering “Your father’s okay, Thran, you’ll see in the morning. It was just a nightmare, and I’m here to help you get through this.” He kissed the tears off Thranduil’s cheeks before pressing another kiss against his lips.

“Oh, thank Eru for you, El,” Thranduil whispered when they broke apart. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“As long as you feel better, Thran. I love you, forever and always, okay?”

“I love you too, Elrond.” Thranduil, comforted by his beloved’s presence, soon fell into a deep sleep, this time unhaunted by dreams. 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I decided to kinda get my shit together and actually type, so yay!!! Two chapters in two days!!! You should be proud of me (I usually don't have this much motivation).

Thranduil and Elrond stood together on the very plains of Mordor that Thranduil had dreamed of so many years ago, a fact that escaped the minds of neither elf. A lull in the fighting had fallen over the battlefield, both sides regrouping for another assault. They were both tense, anticipating something to break the silence, the calm before the storm of battle that would surely break over them.

The very same cry that had echoed through Thranduil’s mind over and over for a century tore across the battlefield as Oropher crumpled at the feet of an Orc, the foul blade of its sword driven into his back. _Sneak attack. Bastards!_ Thranduil thought as he bit back the cry of absolute despair that threatened to break free of him. With Elrond several paces behind him, he streaked toward the source of the cry, both elves’ swords whirling in deadly arcs that cut down any enemy that strayed too near.

Arriving at his father’s side, Thranduil rapidly disabled the Orc and left it up to Elrond to finish it off, falling to his knees beside his father’s prone body.

“ _Ada_?” he choked out, fearing the worst. Miraculously, Oropher’s eyes opened and focused laboriously on his son.

“ _Ion_ … I go to Mandos’s halls… Mirkwood is yours. Take care of my kingdom…” he choked, each word costing him obvious energy.

“No… _Ada_ , I’m going to save you. I’m not letting you go,” Thranduil gasped. Oropher smiled sadly. “ _Ion_ , I’m already gone. Goodbye, Thranduil, my son.” His eyes closed for the last time, bittersweet smile still etched across his features.

“ _Ada_ , no… No! This can’t be happening. This can’t be real!” Tears blurred Thranduil’s vision, blocking out the rest of the world. He didn’t see the Orcs sneaking up behind him, didn’t hear Elrond’s cry of warning, didn’t hear the clang of blade upon blade as elven and orcish metal connected, and then a sharp pain sliced into his arm, and a swirl of faces and stars and colors wheeled before his eyes, and then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? <3


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry I haven't updated in, like, weeks. I've been away at camp for the past three weeks and I've only now gotten the motivation to type up this chapter, so... yeah. Enjoy!

Thranduil’s eyes flickered open, an unfamiliar room swimming before him. The sudden influx of senses overwhelmed his still-weak mind, and he drifted back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Later, much later, Thranduil’s eyes opened once more, and this time they remained so. He was lying in a bed in a small room, covered with no less than six blankets, and sweet Elbereth, his head hurt. His right arm was heavily bandaged, a leftover clump of wilting athalas lying on the bedside table. Elrond was standing at the opposite side of the room at a long workbench, mixing some herbal-scented liquid in a cup. As Thranduil attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, the blankets rustled and Elrond whirled, eyes searching for Thranduil’s. When their eyes met and Elrond saw the clarity in Thranduil’s, he dropped his work and practically ran to his bedside.

“Thran?” he asked, voice shaky with a combination of worry, panic, and the faintest glimmer of hope.

“Elrond?” Thranduil whispered. “Where am I? What happened?”

“Oh. My. Eru. Thran, you’re awake!” Elrond gasped, joy filling his brown eyes.

“I’ve never heard you swear before, El, you must be happy,” Thranduil managed to quip.

“Thran, my love, you don’t even begin to understand how worried I was. I thought I’d lost you too, that you and I wouldn’t meet again for ages.” Elrond’s voice was trembling so badly that it was hard for Thranduil to make out his words, and in that moment, he loved Elrond more than he ever had in their centuries together. He could only smile at his beloved, but Elrond knew exactly what he couldn’t say.

“Sweet Valar, I love you, Thran,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Elrond. I’ll never leave you here alone again.”

“You’d better not, Thran, or otherwise I’ll personally come to Valinor and kill you again.”

“You mean kiss me senseless, right?” Thranduil teased, smirking at Elrond’s blush.

“Whatever.” Elrond rolled his eyes at the ceiling, but Thranduil could see the mischievous glint in their depths.

“Are you seriously considering it?”

“Maybe. The second thing, I mean. I’d rather have you alive.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“When you get better, Thran. I’m not in the state of mind to have you unconscious again, at least not until you recover from that foul poison.” And just like that, Elrond’s joking mood was gone like a feather in the wind. He headed back to the table, stirred a cup, and handed it to Thranduil.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help your body get rid of the last of the poison.” Thranduil was too weak to protest, and after a few sips he felt his eyes growing heavy. He dimly felt Elrond’s lips against his forehead, and his last thought before sleep took him was _Poison? Seriously, what happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might post another chapter soon; I've got chaps up until 7 written but not typed. Comments are my muse. <3


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter! I'll actually be updating every day now (because I love you all). I'm sorry it's so short; I guess my ability to write multi-chapter fics has been overestimated. Oops. ^-^ Enjoy the angst, I guess!

When Thranduil awoke again, it was midday. Fresh bandages were covering his upper arm, and the sun was peeking from behind the heavy elven drapes. Elrond was dozing in a chair beside his bed, a blanket drawn up to his chin, but even as Thranduil’s eyes opened, he shifted, yawned, and stretched, his own eyes flickering open. Blue eyes met brown, both full of love, but another emotion flickered in Thranduil’s: confusion.

“Thran, what’s wrong?” Elrond asked, never one to miss a beat.

“What happened? Yesterday you were talking about poison, and my father hasn’t come to visit me, either. Do you know what’s going on?” Elrond’s heart sank. He had hoped to avoid this conversation until Thranduil’s health was perfect again, but there was no way to evade the topic now. Knowing that somewhere in Thranduil’s mind, the memories of the Last Alliance and his father’s death and the injury were fighting to escape their bonds, Elrond decided to just tell him outright. It was better that way, since no one knew how Thranduil’s mind would interpret the memory if it escaped on its own; probably that his father’s death was his fault, and Elrond knew it wasn’t. He took a deep breath, preparing to give the elf he loved the worst possible news.

“Thran…” He trailed off, trying to gather his courage.

“Yes, Elrond?”

“Thran, well… your father… he was killed in the Last Alliance, and you almost were as well. Poison of Mordor… it was only through the powers of all the healers in Greenwood that you survived. I’m so sorry, Thran…” Elrond trailed off, not wanting to voice the last thought running through his head: _At least you’re alive, Thran, alive and here with me._ It sounded too insensitive to him.

Thranduil stared speechlessly at Elrond, his mind struggling to process the horrific information he had just received. His father, always the leader, the strongest, the fastest, the example for everyone else, was gone. Now he had to fill his footsteps, had to be all of that and more as the new king of Greenwood. _King of Greenwood._ That thought automatically made him expect to see his father walk through the door at any moment, old and familiar crown on his head, tall and regal and everything a king should be. _I’m just a boy, I’m not ready to be king._ There was so much he could’ve said, but the only word that came out was a broken, despairing “Why?”


	5. Five

Thranduil sat alone in his father’s old study, the heavy drapes hiding the moonlight and drowning the room in darkness. His head was propped in his hands, and he was crying silently. Sitting before him was the traditional brown-and-red crown that had been passed down from his grandfather to his father, and now, all too soon, it had come to him. Still, he was half-expecting his father to come walking through the door in a few moments, barking orders behind him, but when he closed the study door, he’d become a completely different person. No longer the cold Elvenking, he’d become the father that does whatever his son wants, and he’d stay that way for the brief hour of each day that he dedicated to Thranduil.

Now that was all gone. Now he was the Elvenking, the crown was his, and the games were a thing of the past. He’d managed to get some time to himself by getting Elrond to cover for him at the mourning ceremonies that were still dragging on and on. Really, the worst parts were the funerals and the mourning ceremonies. Thranduil had had to pretend sadness for the many dignitaries that had come to “pay their respects.” Oh, he was terrible at funeral sadness, as he had come to call it. Sad, but not too sad, since he should be excited at the prospects of finally being king. But “too sad,” in funeral terms, was exactly how Thranduil felt, and to tell the truth, the notion of being king frightened him out of his wits. He wasn’t ready to rule an entire kingdom on his own.

“But you’re not on your own, _meleth_ ,” an oh-so-familiar voice said from behind Thranduil’s chair. He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud.

“Go away, Elrond,” Thranduil replied, not looking up. “Aren’t you supposed to be covering for me at the ceremonies? The people can’t see me like this... _and you can’t see me like this either_ ,” he finished under his breath, surreptitiously wiping at his nose and eyes.

“Thran, I can agree with the first statement, but definitely not with the second,” Elrond said, sounding hurt. He’d heard every word that Thranduil had said. “True, the people don’t want to see their king like this, but Thranduil, surely I can see you like this?”

“No, Elrond, please…” he protested.

“Thran, love, I’m here to help you get through this. Let me help you, please.”

“No, Elrond, I’m fine. I’m perfectly strong enough to get through this on my own, without your help.”

“Oh, Thranduil, is that what it is? Oh, _meleth_ … I think you’re the strongest elf I know, but sometimes even the strongest need help, too. Do you know how much your father relied on Luríen?”

“No…”

“A lot. And if he needed Luríen’s help, surely you can accept mine?” Thranduil let out a long sigh.

“Okay, El, you win. I guess I do need a bit of help…” Elrond smiled softly, dropping a gentle kiss onto Thranduil’s hair.

“I knew you’d come around. Just remember, Thran, I’m always, always here for you. I’ll never leave you alone.”

“I know, Elrond. I’ll never forget… but Valar, I miss him so much. I keep thinking about him, every part of this land reminds me of some small part of him. I don’t know how I’ll ever walk the paths of this kingdom without this pain, much less govern over it. Gods, El, help me… I can feel myself breaking…” Elrond’s heart was shattering at every word Thranduil spoke, the pain in his voice, the choked sob that escaped his throat, it all tore painfully at his own heart. He slid into the chair beside Thranduil and wrapped him in a hug, letting him cry into his shoulder. Thranduil curled into him, slim body shaking with sobs. Elrond just held him tighter, letting him finally get all the grief out. There would be time to grieve for his own losses later. Now Thranduil needed him to be strong.

Hours later, Thranduil had finally stopped crying, and his chest was rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Technically, Elrond could’ve moved and just let Thranduil sleep in his chair, but for one, he was sure he’d break, too, if he broke the moment, and two, he didn’t want Thran to be alone when he awoke. After all that had transpired, what, two days ago, Thran would probably wake with a nightmare again. So he just stayed right where he was, Thran curled around him like a cat, holding his breath like a single particle of air would send the world into free fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop being mean to poor Thrandy. Unfortunately it's way too fun. ;) There's one or two more angsty chapters on the way (yay, foreshadowing). <3


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is one of the less angsty ones, though there's one more in store (surprise!) Enjoy!

Surprisingly, Thranduil awoke peacefully the next morning. No nightmare had jolted him from sleep, but somehow the waking world seemed more like a nightmare than anything his mind could conjure. He had woken slowly, his brain fogged by the last tendrils of sleep, and for a few moments everything was alright in the world. Then his eyes had cleared fully, and the first thing Thranduil saw was the crown. The crown that had been his father’s, and its presence only reminded him that no, nothing would ever be alright again. This time, he managed to force the tears away, but he knew that they would be back.

“Where do I start?” he wondered aloud, forgetting Elrond’s presence behind him. The words awoke the lord of Imladris, who had finally fallen asleep hours after Thranduil, in the blackest part of the night.

“Thran?” he asked tentatively, not knowing if his beloved had just woken from a nightmare. Thranduil jumped at the sound of his voice and turned slightly to face Elrond.

“El?” A nod. “What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know how to be king. Is there somewhere to start?” Elrond didn’t hesitate, knowing exactly where to begin.

“Paperwork.”

“Seriously?!”

“Yes, Thran, I am completely serious. Paperwork is the most dull and most important part of ruling a land.”

“But where-” Thranduil broke off into a gasp of incredulity as Elrond directed his gaze toward a mountain of scrolls on the floor that Thranduil’s new butler, Galion, had brought during the night.

“Uh...I guess we’d better get started, then,” Thranduil stammered, utterly overwhelmed at the sheer volume of the work. Elrond nodded again, wanting to try and distance themselves from the grief that he could feel permeating the room, threatening to overwhelm the two elves, perched on a fragmenting pedestal of calm.

Elrond attempted to move to grab the first few scrolls off the top of the stack, but found Thranduil still curled around him, effectively preventing him from moving more than a few centimeters.

“Thran, could you kindly let me move so I can help you a bit more effectively?” Thranduil smiled in spite of himself.

“Should I? I’m rather comfortable…” he teased in return.

“Stop it, Thran, or we’re never going to get anything done.”

“I’d be fine with that,” Thranduil quipped, and truly, Elrond would be fine with it, too, but he knew the stack of paper would at least double in size by the end of the day. Paper out, paper in, he supposed.

“This mountain of scrolls is going to double by the end of today, and we’re going to have to get it all done by midnight.” Thranduil’s eyes widened at that, and he instantly moved so Elrond could get up.

“Well, now I know how to make you move, threaten you with paperwork,” Elrond teased as he gave Thranduil a quick kiss and moved to collect several scrolls, an inkwell and quills, and a spare armchair from around the study, opening the drapes to let in some sunlight as he went. Thranduil rolled his eyes and took the proffered objects from Elrond as the other elf dragged the armchair up beside Thranduil’s.

Slipping a crystal letter opener into the first scroll’s wax seal, stamped with the seal of Girion of Dale, Thranduil could only stare as the absolutely outrageous amount of words that had been squeezed into a single piece of parchment.

“That would be one of the shorter ones, my love.”

“...Are you kidding me?!”


	7. Seven

Elrond collapsed onto his side of the huge bed in Thranduil’s rooms, spent by a long day of teaching Thranduil the inner workings of kingly paperwork. He pressed a gentle kiss to the already-sleeping Elvenking’s forehead, then buried his head in his fluffy pillow and willed sleep to take him away.

It had been a full hour, and Elrond _still_ wasn’t asleep. Apparently half-elves could have insomnia. Or maybe it was just because Gil-galad had always called for his counsel in the strangest hours; usually between eleven and three. He supposed that his body was expecting a summons at any moment, preventing him from sleeping. _I can’t believe I’m never going to see him again._ Contrary to some beliefs, Elrond was definitely not in love with Ereinion Gil-galad; his heart belonged to Thranduil alone; but he had loved him as a brother and as a king. Elrond had been the one to lay Aeglos, the High-King’s spear, atop his body in the funeral ceremony, Glorfindel- Gil-galad’s  real beloved- by his side. In the rational part of Elrond’s mind, he knew that Gil-galad was gone forever, but he was somehow still expecting his messenger to arrive, bearing a summons to the High-King’s chambers for a glass or two of wine and a discussion of strategy.

But Gil-galad was gone, killed at the hands of Sauron himself, and the Ring of Power on his finger, Vilya, would only remind him of that tragic fact. The emptiness of his kingdom would remind him, too, of the fact that so many of his friends, subjects, and comrades had been killed in that one awful charge that had marked the demise of half of his Imladris army.

Even the strongest elf wouldn’t be able to hold back such grief for long, and Elrond knew that he wasn’t even close to strong enough. So he let down his barriers and finally, finally let himself cry. He forced himself to not make a sound, as to not wake an exhausted Thranduil, but the tears still flowed thick and fast, coursing down the half-elf’s face in rivers.

Elrond cried for Gil-galad, for the countless friends that he had lost, for all who had died in the battle, for Thranduil, who was so lost without his father, drowning in the ocean of kingship, for the entire kingdom of Middle-Earth that would someday fall to the assaults of evil as the kingdoms of Elves, Men, and Dwarves slowly diverged from an old alliance, and for himself and those he loved. All the grief that had been building up within him just had to go, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to help Thranduil, who was hurting even more than he was. It just all had to go… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst, wheeee... hope you enjoyed anyway! <3 A comment/kudos would make my day! :)


	8. Eight

Elrond didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but all too soon, Thranduil was shaking him awake with a mildly horrified look on his face.

“Thran, what is it?” he groaned, hiding his face in his pillow.

“Are we really supposed to be done with all of this by the end of today?!” the blonde exclaimed, motioning to an even-higher mountain of paper balancing precariously on the edge of the desk, seemingly holding itself together with only luck and crossed fingers.

“Yep.”

“Is there anything more to being King than paperwork?” Thranduil grumbled, searching the desk for a spare inkwell as Elrond dragged himself out of bed.

“Actually, there is,” Elrond replied, sitting back down in the chair he had commandeered the previous day with a hairbrush in hand. “There’s the political meetings that are actually supposed to be diplomatic, but end up being either so boring that you want to run screaming from the room, or so frustrating that you want to impale the dwarf across the table from you with a pen. Then there’s the part where you have to decide between making the people like you or just being cold and impassionate. I’d recommend a mix between the two. Just don’t get yourself overthrown and you’ll be fine. You also have to-”

“Okay, okay, I get it! There _is_ more to being King than paperwork, but I’m not going to like it.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Really, the only good thing about ruling any land in general is getting to boss people around. Oh, and the awesome throne that you get to sit on for most of the day. But other than that, kingship really isn’t all that it’s made out to be.

“I’m getting that vibe here. I’d rather stay a prince and be able to spend all my time with you instead of all this,” Thranduil grumbled, getting a smile out of Elrond.

“I’d rather spend my time with you too, but the kingdom is calling,” he replied, his voice carrying the barest tinge of melancholy.

“Aw, Elrond, but paperwork is so much more boring than you. Can’t we just spare the time for a kiss?”

“Okay, but just one.”

“Come here, you,” Thranduil ordered, taking Elrond’s hand and pulling him into his own chair. The elven lord smiled fondly and let himself melt into the kiss that Thranduil pressed to his lips. He knew that it would be years, maybe even centuries, before Thranduil recovered from this loss. Though neither himself nor Thranduil would ever truly be the same, the road to recovery had begun, and he swore to himself that he would be there for his dear Thran, every step of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I end it here, on a (relatively) happy note, or should I make it sad again? I have an epilogue written, but I'm not sure if I'm posting it or not. Feedback please? <3


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